


Miss Grant. Miss Grant... Cat.

by roseflushpearlsnblood



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Humor, Mild Smut, Second person POV, kara’s pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24456580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseflushpearlsnblood/pseuds/roseflushpearlsnblood
Summary: What goes on inside Kara’s mind when she sees Cat.Like Cat, Kara’s been infatuated from day one and this is her thought process of how she deals with such feelings.What happens after too impossible tasks, too many game nights and too much alcohol?Sequel and Finale to “Kiera, Kera, Kara.”
Relationships: Alex Danvers & Kara Danvers, Astra/Alex Danvers, Kara Danvers & Cat Grant, Kara Danvers/Cat Grant
Comments: 6
Kudos: 96





	Miss Grant. Miss Grant... Cat.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m horrible at summaries. Please forgive the way I write because it’s a little strange to write in second person but danggg it was fun. I hope you enjoy this read!!
> 
> Special thanks to @yurimyansan for inspiring the Kara POV. I’ve had a long day of classes, but this suggestion got me really hyped to write it, at first I was skeptical but as I got into it, I started really liking how it turned out. Thank you for the inspiration! 
> 
> I’m sorry I’m not entirely sure how AO3 works, I really have to read the FAQ.

You’re so nervous that you can feel the heat vision bubbling beneath your eyes. You shouldn’t be so nervous. It’s just one interview. Cat Grant might be famous for firing assistants and this position is one that belongs to the cream of the cream of the crop. And.....you just riled up your emotions more.

 _Relax_. You tell yourself and you remove your black frames to wipe them on your shirt. You don’t even need them but it’s a good disguise to hide behind.

Out of the corners of your eye, you catch the intimidating blonde looking at you. Her attention is taken away from the man blabbering on in front of her, and she stares at you point blank. The man keeps speaking and yet her eyes stay on you.

Without the need for your superhearing, you know she’s bored and what the man’s saying is rubbish. Not that you could do much better. You’re only fresh out of college and the assistant job is the only one you could get an interview for.

Her eyes are a shade of hazel, drifting between bright green and light brown in the different lighting. That’s the first thing you notice about her, and the first thing you notice about most humans. Eye colour is such a fascinating thing, nearly everyone on Krypton hadblue eyes and humans had every shade from pale grey to black. Fascinating stuff. If you keep making such intense eye contact with her, she’s going to either call security or scream.

So you smile and stick out your hand. Hoping that you don’t seem like a serial killer or a weirdo.

With a pause that seems to last forever, she stares at you again, eyes fluttering back and forth in a motion that seems to be intimidating. It’s so judgmental you feel the urge to whip out some lotion and slather your hands in them. Rao knows how many callouses you wracked up playing field hockey.

You wait there like an idiot, hand sticking out and tries not to flinch when she starts reaching for the hand sanitiser, _that you can see with your X-RAY vision._

Her hand stops mid crawl and with a bit of hesitation, her smooth palm is in yours, a small smile on her lips.

* * *

You get the job. You get the job! You sing to yourself as you skip out of CatCo’s doors, holding on the slip of paper she just passed you.

You’re now officially Cat Grant’s assistant. Assistant to the queen of all media. Oh, you could just float from the joy. You secretly do, taking in the advantage of the hustle and bustle of people too busy to notice your floating feet.

You’ve sat there making little notes in your planner. Okay, little is an understatement. Your writing is large and resembles a drunk calligrapher’s penmanship.Miss Grant notices, of course, you see her eyeing the little printed puppies on the cover of your notebook. So you blab about how you would make the writing easier for her to read and how you were not raised by two fingered humans.

Alex has impeccable font style writing, so it must be your kryptonian genetics, because no one on Krypton had ever used an ink pen. You had styluses and tablets to code your thoughts on.

But you’ll learn to write neater for Miss Grant, you will. She deserves nothing but the best.

* * *

You first think that getting a job at CatCo was your happy ending. A secure job, good pay and health benefits. You are already having it better than most of the population.

It’s the beginning of a nightmarish existence. For all the white decor, and glass walls, along with a cheery hot pink cat statue, CatCo presents itself as wholesome and professional. It’s looks like where robots would come home to, no mess or loose sheafs of paper in sight.

Your naturally messy self finds it very hard to adapt. There’s a certain order of things and all of it goes so well together that one cog out of place would halt the entire machine that is CatCo.

Places that you didn’t know could be sore, are very very sore. Miss Grant has you everywhere, layouts, printing duty, coffee runs. You only just get by with your superspeed and powers, how did humans even manage the workload that was given here? You blink dazedly as James and Winn zip past you with freshly printed photos and armfuls of colour swatches.

Miss Grant might be the only guiding light in this revolving word of paper madness.

CatCo might be a world of clicking heels and non stop work, but it’s efficient, the profits rise and rise. The company keeps itself together and you have to force yourself not to fawn over Miss Grant when she wins award after award for the work she does.

She deserves it. She’s the hardest worker out of all of them. The Queen of the hive.

Her work ethic is the reason why. Miss Grant is demanding. Snappish even. Everything has to run its smooth course and she demands nothing less than perfection. You learn that the hard way. When you offer her a colder than normal latte, she pushes the cup onto the floor and promptly steps on it, crumbling the paper cup beneath her heel.

Coffee stains the marble floor and you have to beg a team of janitors to lend you some sort of marble polisher to get the stain out.

You work harder and harder. Coffee, the most simplest thing in the world, and yet Miss Grant makes it span epic proportions. You learn to heat her latte with your heat vision and to listen for her heartbeat for when she enters the building so her drink is always on the point of scalding.

That pleased little sigh that comes from her first sip is the highlight of your day.

If she wasn’t demanding before, Miss Grant has just become a dictator.

She sends you on more and more coffee runs. Complaining about perfect lattes and even having tantrums where she tosses her laptop off her balcony and you have to speed change and fly down to grab it before it shatters.

Perhaps it is the stress. You reckon that it’s the pressure from leading a built-from-the-ground company and the judgement that come with being a woman in power.

It doesn’t stop you from admiring her from afar.

Her fish bowl office is thankfully not made of frosted glass and _either way, you could always use your powers_ but it’s thrilling to hide behind your screen or to duck behind a plant and just watch her for a while.

Granted. It’s literally the making of a psycho and it takes up the few minutes of your break.

Your heart pounds ten to a thousand in your chest when she reaches to swipe a piece of her blonde curls behind her ears. The shape of her rounded lips stands out from her pale visage and you’re drawn to the plumpness that she bites down on while typing furiously at her computer.

* * *

Until the Livewire incident, you were so sure she was made of iron. She showed the barest hint of emotion on a daily basis, either a blank face or the cold calculated anger everyone came to fear. You’ve been faced with some new expressions from her recently, one you dub “thoughtful look” and the other you dub “nervous look”. It doesn’t make sense for Miss Grant’s heartbeat to beat so quickly for a female of her age.

When Livewire appeared, Miss Grant didn’t even stutter and she stood up, knees shaking only a bit from the shock still coursing through her body. She talks to the DJ turned supervillain like she has powers herself and she even has the gall to scoff at the “tacky” hair Leslie Willis had.

All the while, she whispers for you to hide and to get to safety because Livewire only has issues with her.

You’re touched by how willing she is to put herself in front of those who need it but you won’t let it come to that.

In a few moments, Supergirl appears just as Livewire prepares to aim a bolt at Miss Grant. Under your watch, no harm will ever come to her.

* * *

She’s drunk the day you lash out at her.

Finally all the unreasonable demands have gotten to you and it just happens that you’re suffering the monthly pains. _Period cramps are not fun._

After you scream at her, all the anger you hold is now dissipated and the woman before you, who seemed so powerful only minutes ago, stumbles to the couch like a broken rag doll.

Your hands reach to steady her, and there’s a quick thought that you might have used super strength to knock her over but you hastily dismiss that thought as her knees buckle from from underneath her and you have to haul her to the couch bodily.

She whispers an apology, while her hands grasp a crystal glass sadly.

The apology seems insincere at first glance but you know one thing, however flippantly she says it or the speed of which she says it, Miss Grant never apologises unless she means it.

She means it this time. She even called you by your name correctly. _Kara_. It sounds like the sweetest words to your ears.

You settle her in her desk chair and while she’s occupied by fiddling with her glass, you change into your suit and come towards her in the guise of Supergirl.

You lift her into your arms and fly the short distance to her penthouse. The night is dark and there are barely any stars, but she looks like a sleeping angel in the faint light of the billboards you pass. The lines of her face have smoothened and there’s even a semblance of a smile as she slumbers. She looks content, and cradled there, in your arms with the city humming underneath you, there comes the sudden urge to kiss her.

You don’t dare to.

Instead, you fly just a bit quicker and enter her bedroom through the balcony. You deposit her in her bed and make sure to pull the covers over her, so the night air doesn’t leave her with a chill. On a piece of card stock you find by the bed, you take some time to scrawl a quick note, in your best imitation of Alex’s penmanship.

Then, just before you steal out into night, you catch a mistaken glimpse at her sleeping self. You give in and place a soft kiss on her forehead.

The next morning, when she comes to work like you predicted her stubborn self would, you hand over the latte with your customary greeting. This time, after that little sigh from the caffeine, she thanks you.

Your cheeks heat from the unusualness of the niceties.

She brushes it off as quickly as she said it and strides into her office.

As you stare at her back, you try to reassure yourself that she recalls nothing of the the night other than the “fight.”

* * *

She trusts you with Carter.

Carter, her pride and joy. The only person she would fall to her knees for.

The firs time before you meet him, you are so determined for him to like you, that you spend half the night revising science terminology at Alex and Astra’s place.

Your sister sits with you for a while, chortling at how you mispronounce most of the words.

She’s focused and even helps with remembering some of the definitions, but when your aunt.... _the image is a bit too concerning for your eyes_ , appears in a black peignoir and nothing else, that serious look is dropped.

Alex, for all her loyalty, tosses the flash cards into the air with a rushed goodbye and practically superspeeds into the bedroom.

You see yourself out and plug your ears with your hands for half the night, because even from half a neighbourhood away, you hear your aunt screaming Alex’s name in a high C. No one’s niece should be subjected to hearing their aunt “beg for more”. Especially since that aunt doesn’t beg for anything.....on a side note, you think to yourself, as a sort of positive side: Aunt Astra should really consider a career in opera if she ever resigns from the DEO.

You put your heart and soul into learning all those science facts but in the end it doesn’t matter. Carter is everything Miss Grant said he was and in fact, the two of you get along so well, Carter ends up begging his mother for you to join them for dinner.

Miss Grant sighs and says yes.

Carter, that wonderful brilliant boy that you’ve come to love and care for, tells you something astonishing about his mother.

“Mom likes you Kara. She looks like she doesn’t but she does.”

You adjust your glasses foolishly, not knowing what to say to that but there’s something hot and bubbling inside of you and you recognise it as the feeling you’ve always had since laying eyes on Miss Grant.

* * *

She’s your boss.

She could be fired.

You could be fired.

All those scenarios run through your brain as you deftly hand Miss Grant the notes for the meeting later on. She asks you what’s wrong but you shake your head and tell her everything is alright.

She can’t be fired. She owns the company

You would probably still be fired.

Speaking of Supergirl, you’ve been meeting her on the alternate nights when she doesn’t stay at her office with “Kara Danvers”.

With that costume on, you’re impenetrable, nothing a few pieces of insulated leather and an indestructible cape can’t fix. You lounge on her balcony, claiming it’s the perfect place to rest after defeating another foe. It truly is, you get the perfect view of the stars and the perfect view of their lights reflecting in the orbs of her green eyes.

Miss Grant at home, is gentler than her office persona. The line between her brows isn’t quite so pinched and she laughs at Supergirl’s dumb jokes.

After noticing the rhythm of your visits, she leaves a lasagna or other manners of your favourite carbs on her balcony and on those nights and she is happy to lean on the railing, talking with you about everything and nothing while staring at the stars together.

“The stars are beautiful.” She remarks, hand palming her cheek as she gazes up at one that shines brightly down upon the two of you.

You stare at her moonlit complexion. _Yes, very beautiful._

What Kara Danvers has with her is different, Miss Grant is the talker, the over sharing soul who spills one too many secrets. Kara Danvers listens and chuckles along, shaking from excitement when her soft hands run over your own calloused knuckles.

Miss Grant has dainty hands, like a porcelain doll. You long to kiss the back of it sometimes,because such hands deserve to be worshipped and revered. She commands so much attention wherever she goes that it takes some self control to not bow down or curtsy. You blame Alex for making you watch those old fashioned films to “learn about earth’s culture.”

The joke’s on her. You let Aunt Astra watch them after their three month anniversary. Alex has had to deal with a troublesome old fashioned Kryptonian who insisted on offering ‘Alexandra” her arm and standing on the sidewalk side of the street. Despite Alex’s admonishing and groans about the unnecessary actions, Aunt Astra is still as gallant as ever, and now when Alex rolls her eyes at your aunt’s exaggerated mannerisms, there’s a certain fondness in them.

How you want to do what Aunt Astra does to Alex. Hold Miss Grant’s hand like it’s a prized potsticker and to kiss the length of it while she giggles into your hair. You love hearing her laugh, it’s a surprising snort that completely obliterates the facade of elegance she puts up. It’s endearing. You love it. You love her. Though, you would never admit it out loud.

* * *

Miss Grant seems to be walking around you on tiptoes lately.

Tiptoes that clack up and down in their slingback heels. She offers you pleased glances every now and then, which both unnerves and excites you.

It’s the bold proclamations that strike you first, what kind of decree is “People are allowed to smile more.”?

The second is the delivery of the biggest potsticker you’ve ever seen, and the third one really does take the ticket, she joins you at an all you can eat buffet. You’re glad to see her eat something more filling than fruit, at the amount she consumes, you are shocked by how she’s alive when eating so sparingly. No wonder, she always looks pale and a little tired around the edges.

Currently, she’s winding strands of chow mien around her fork, eyes lighting up when the taste hits her. Rao, Miss Grant even moans. It’s ungodly how you’re sitting still without squirming in your seat. Impressive self control had to be learned from the years of breaking pencils with one touch. It applies to here as well, thank Rao.

Carter begs for you to come to dinner every now and then. Miss Grant always says yes and those dinners nearly always turn into an affair that ends with the three of you sprawled out on the carpet, debating over who wins monopoly.

Dinners morph into game nights.

Ones where you are told to dress in pyjamas or more casual clothes than you would at the office, Carter even hands you a fluffy blanket, one’s that patterned in blue and red, a homage to Supergirl, he says, while giving you a wink.

Both Grants know who are you really are and it’s still surprising that Cat allows you to linger on her balcony long after the moon fades into the clouds. You talk about your life on Krypton and crack jokes that only a person pitying the other would laugh at.

In that moment, Miss Grant isn’t a journalist, or a reporter, she’s not a CEO too. She’s something that toes the line between friend and more. A person who listens to your words with nothing but the stars in her eyes and quick little quips in response.

One night, you receive a text from Miss Grant, one that tells you to come over looking nice and to bring a bottle of sparkling cider.

At least, it’s what looks to be Miss Grant’s text.

It’s too late because you immediately assume that’s an indirect “asking out” and you get dressed, hurriedly ironing one of your nicer dresses and grabbing a bouquet of flowers from the vendor down the street. You don’t forget the cider and you show up at her door clutching the items in your hand.

Miss Grant’s face looks the most shocked it’s ever been and she’s dressed in some hoity toity approximation of pyjamas.

The two of you stand there in silence. Miss Grant appraising you with a questioning raise of her eyebrow.

When Carter comes up to the two of you, giving a hurried explanation. All is clear. He calls the two of you out, calling his mother an “iron maiden” because she’s too used to hiding her feelings and you “too scared to overstep.” But in conclusion: you two like each other, a lot. Carter punctuates this with a clap of his hands before rushing out the door with a large backpack.

Miss Grant stands there, stunned and there’s a slight bit of sweat that gathers at your hairline because Carter’s method, which may be efficient, it’s embarrassing and you’re sure that your face is redder than it normally is.

The two of you hear the loud honk of a car and Miss Grant rushes to the window. At that moment your phone’s text notification pings. To no one’s surprise, also because you recognise that loud honking, it’s Aunt Astra.

“We will take care of the Little Grant tonight.”

Great, your aunt and sister were meddling too. They must have planned this with Carter. You should have never left him with them because in that singular minute, Carter probably got Alex’s number and probably was already planning by the time she returned from getting him a hot chocolate.

You get another text this time from Alex.

“To clarify, we’re not murdering him. He’s spending the night. Will not corrupt him. Have fun!!”

Alex sounds impossibly cheery.

With a loud screech of the tires, your sister’s jeep revs, leaving a scratch of tire on the previously grey road.

To calm Miss Grant’s obviously concerned fears, you step up and tell her that your aunt and sister are taking him for the night. He’s in safe hands, she doesn’t have to worry.

Her brow loosens and a relieved sigh escapes her.

In that moment, since Carter so graciously paved a path for you, you take her smaller hands and fold over them with yours.

You tell her how much she means to you and gives her a whole speech about honour, love and duty, all the words you heard from one of Krypton’s philosophy books, thank you very much.

Miss Grant stops you with a finger to your lips and she fulfils your wildest dreams with a single magical word. _Yes_. 

* * *

Cat.

She isn’t Miss Grant, queen of all media anymore. She might be to others, but to you, she’s just Cat.

You adore the name that falls so easily on your lips now.

Astra and Alex might give a round of crass hooting whenever she accompanies you to their place for Friday nights, but it’s all in good fun.

You love the blush that adorns her face, when her hand, which falters in the motion, turns over shyly for you to place yours in it. The couple even designate you two a “cuddling nook” on their spacious couch, one that’s perfectly fitted for you to cradle the smaller woman in your lap.

Calling Cat, Cat is wonderful.

Holding Cat’s hand is wonderful

Everything about her is wonderful.

That night, you watch her move around your shared room, stripping off articles of clothing as she moves. You won’t deny that her body isn’t young, there are obvious stretch marks that come with the bearing of two children and she seems to be aware of her scars because she moves away to finish changing in the closet.

You follow her. Watching as she struggles to reach the clasp on her bra.

“Let me.”

You reach forward and untangle her hands gently, unbuckling the clasp in one quick swipe of your fingers.

Her response is a whispered thanks, but she turns away from you and reaches for a robe.

“Don’t.” Your voice lowers with the tinge of pleading.

She’s perfection in your eyes. The sylphlike grace she moves with, the slender shoulders that taper into a small waist. Yes, the stretch marks are there on her thighs and stomach, but you give no care.

You drop to your knees and kiss each one, because they are a part of her, and because you love her, everything about her is beautiful, from the triangular pattern of moles on her lower back to the white marks that adorn her limbs. They’re so beautiful, just like the rest of her.

Tears, hot drops, skid their way down your head and drip onto the nape of your neck.

Cat never cries and that’s more than enough for you to scoop her up and hold her close, letting her cry into your warmth.

You hold her just a little bit tighter.

Hoping that this would give her all the reassurance she needs.

* * *

You love to make love to her at night . The moon is favourable and she’s glowing in its muted brightness, the soft hues washing over her body, bathing her in the most wondrous of earth’s light.

The sun may heal and warm your skin. But now, after meeting her and knowing her, you’ve grown to love the moon. The moon is a tame being but when you truly start to fall for it, you unleash all the moonbeams that scatter down between the stars.

You tell her all you love about her, make it a point to kiss her everywhere you can and through it all, she closes her eyes, only opening them in their wide hazel intensity when her climax approaches.

There’s a quick declaration of her love before her body spams, moonlight rippling over the shadows of her moving body.

You’re both panting, you from the exhilaration of seeing her reach the heights of pleasure, her from the tingling heat that encapsulates her body.

She only takes a moment to recover before she’s bounding all over you, attacking your lips with a heated fervour and hands that roam the planes and lines of your body.

 _This is what love feels like_ , you think when Cat’s hands press down on your hipbones, a pause in between her wandering hands, always asking consent even though you’ve been together for quite a while.

She makes you feel safe, reassured and it takes one with extremely strong emotional ability to make a superhero feel safe.

Under her hands, you’re not Supergirl, you’re not Kara Danvers, you’re just a woman who’s desperately in love with the one you want to spend eternity with.

_ Cat. Cat. Cat.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!


End file.
